


Alfred F P.I

by Deablos



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 20:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6673978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deablos/pseuds/Deablos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred f. Jones is a Private Investigator, noir style.</p>
<p>It's something I was typing up for a friend. She's no longer interested in it's outcome. I thought I might as well let this thing out. It's far from complete ... hell, I'm not even sure if I spell checked this. Maybe if I get enough feed back (good or bad) I might be motivated enough to continue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alfred F P.I

This city, it’s alive, it breathes the black smoke of industrial expansion. It grows towering tumor like skyscrapers so tall that you can’t see the sun till a quarter after 11. It laughs stale cool breezes on warm sunny days, and it cries acidic rain that drowns every sewer drain from Hoores ave to avenue X. And like all living things it feeds, it feeds on me and you. On those days that make you feel like you’ve been through the ringer. Well that was this city taking a bite out of you, it chewed you up and spat you out. The only time you need to worry is when it decides to swallow. This is one of those times this city, my city, tried to swallow me whole.

Names Alfred F. Jones P.I. Not the most glamorous of jobs but I get to make up my own hours. IT had been an unusually uneventful month, only cases I’ve worked were a dozen cheating spouses, several insurance frauds, and two fake wills. They all went well and they all paid well. To celebrate the revival of my bank account I decided to take a swim in the deep end of a bottle of scotch, wearing only my vodka life vest. It was the second day of my solo bacchanal and I had just finished turning my office into my empty bottle filled living space.

Out of the blurry blue the door bell rang, my first instinct was to chug as much of my remaining stash before the door gets kicked in. My second instinct was to continue lying on the floor till the visitor leaves, I chose the latter. I stayed face up on my floor, waiting for the knocking to stop and a more alarming sound replaced it. The sound of my door opening, the door I rarely forget to lock. Not the door that leads to the small waiting room outside of my office but the actual office door itself. I scurried across the floor like a roach when the lights are hit. I found a clean shirt and threw it on before sitting in my chair and rolling to my desk. There I found my clip on tie and my trusty hat, I put both on and quickly pretended to be reading before the lights were cut on.

“I’m sorry to intrude but there wasn’t anyone in the waiting room” A French accent from a tall slender and blurry hour glass figure. Her voice was strong but graceful and judging from her accent and pretty good English she must have been state side for a couple of years now. “My secretary went on a permanent leave of absents.” I cleverly retorted and without slurring my words either, nice job AJ. The woman in what I could now tell was a red one piece dress took a few more steps in but stopped dead in her tracks when her foot kicked one of my empty friends across the floor, “From the look of things, your maid decided to leave with your secretary” she snapped back as she pulled a handkerchief from what looked like he slightly below average cleavage and placed it over her nose and mouth.

Touche bitch, I thought as I was too drunk to think of a wittier comeback, “If all you came for was to lecture me on my house keeping then madame may turn around and grace me with her rear as-” She doesn’t even let me finish my comeback. She frantically rushes through the field of bottles to my desk and nearly tosses herself onto it. “Non, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to offend you. Please I need your help, no one else will help me.” The swift moving woman helped snap me half way out of my drunken stupor, well just enough to see the details in her face. Soft blond hair, about a inche away from shoulder length, sharp blue eyes shrink wrapped in tears, mascara stained cheeks and quivering ruby red lips.

I sat back in my chair making sure not to roll out from under the desk, seeing I’m still wearing half a birthday suite. I sighed before taking off my trusty hat “No no, I’m sorry ma'am for making you run across the bottle field. It’s been a long two weeks and I’ve just been unwinding with a few … dozen drinks. Please have a seat I’ll try my best to help you.” I pointed her towards the empty chair in front of my desk while I searched my draws for my pad. The French woman sits down and tries to compose herself as she wipes away her running make-up with her once white handkerchief.

“My name is Francisca Bonnefay. When my daughter Madeline was five years old, my husband passed and we moved here to America. That was ten years ago. I’m not going to say my daughter and I got along all the time but we did more often than not. About a year ago she started spending more time with a boy who I knew was nothing but trash. At first she didn’t listen but eventually the boy showed his true upbringing and she left him. I don’t know why but he thought Madeline’s leaving was not of her own accord. I called the police multiple times but they did nothing and now Madeline is gone and I know it was him.”

Francisca delivered a teary eyed synapses. I would have been more moved but this was not the first time a mother had come to my office saying her child had been kidnapped by an ex-lover. After a few seconds of searching I find my pants and thankfully my pad was in my the pocket. I calmly removed them from my pocket, rested it on my desk and folded my hands together. “Now Mrs. Bonnefay I mean no disrespect but I’ve been through a lot of kidnappings that turned out to be just a kid eloping with a person the parents disproved of. So once again no disrespect but was her boyfriend a Black or Spanish gentlemen?”

I tried to ask as softly as possible but there aren’t many ways of phrasing are you a racist. Visibly upset she stood up and turned her back to me, she hesitantly pulled down the two shoulder straps that were holding up her tight dress. The dress floated down to the floor around Francisca’s black high heel shoes. She turns half way to the left exposing her side. It was a massive discolored bruise, that started just below her bra and extended down to her hip. “He’s Cuban and he is no man nor was he gentle.” I close my eyes and turned my head out of disgust for myself and the animal that could do this to a woman.

Just write down where I can reach you and leave the rest to me.” I should have gotten an Oscar for that emotion driven speech. I handed her my pen so she could write down her info. “Mister Jones, you can call me just Francisca, I never remarried.” she hinted before strutting out the door, shaking her well shaped voluptuous rear out the door. (There's the booze again)This city is jam packed with bars, filled with men and women licking their wounds from the day's trials and tribulations. BUT there is only one pub within a four mile radius of me, let alone a few blocks and I know the git owner of that shit-can of a pub. I finished getting dressed and headed to the Queen's Cabinet … after a shower and four cups of coffee.


End file.
